Page 8 of Rescued By Midnight

“Let’s talk about that.” He leans back in his ergonomic desk chair. “You said a man took you?”

“A man did take me. I was on a run. I didn’t hear him approach. I’ve told all of this to the police, several times.”

“Do you know what this man looks like?”

“I should hope so—I spent the last year living with him.”

He looks up sharply. “Living with him how?”

Ah, the question. This is what everyone wants to know. “We never had…relations of any kind. I was more like a live-in servant.”

“Did you sleep together?”

I purse my lips.

Elder Wattle raises his eyebrows at me. “Alice, it is important we have all the details straight, so we know what you have been through.”

And so they can decide whether I’m still pure enough for Brayden, I suspect. I can already guess their reasoning. I must be flawless. Brayden doesn’t have to be flawless, though. Despite the fact he didn’t remain true to his vows, it’s okay because he thought I was dead.

Also because he’s a man.

Sighing, I say, “We slept in two separate cots in the cabin.”

“I see.”

He sees nothing. For all his high “Level Five” standing, he isn’t above me. He thinks he is, but I’ve had an entire year to reflect on the church and its teachings. When I sought comfort in what I’d been told as a teenager, about how suffering could bring me to a Level Two from my Level One, I decided I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to suffer.

I don’t even want a level. Throw me back to Zero, where I was when my parents and I joined.

“When a man has a woman in his house,” Elder Wattle begins, “he is bringing temptation not only unto himself, but unto her.”

“Are you saying I wanted to have sex with my kidnapper?” I stand up. “He stole me from my perfect house and my perfect husband. He stole me from my life.”

“Sit down, Alice.”

No. No, I will not sit down. I want to rage at this guy, to take out all of my confusion and uncertainty on his smug Santa face. The world kept spinning over the past year, but I stayed still. Now I’m here, struggling to catch up again, and he has the audacity to imply I was tempted by my kidnapper? I could spit.

But years of training force me to say, “I’m sorry, I’m developing a headache. Please excuse me for today.”

His eyes squint harder before softening. “Of course, Alice. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“Yes. Thank you for understanding, Elder Wattle.” I touch my fingers to his outstretched ones, struggling not to recoil.

I walk back to Brayden’s truck. My legs are shaking—either from anger, or from disuse. When I was chained in Abe’s cabin, I never walked farther than fifteen feet at a time.

Brayden is on his phone, but he quickly sets it down and leans out his window. “You’re done early. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I’m just not feeling well.”

“You didn’t offend Elder Wattle, did you?” He knows I have never liked the man.

“Thanks for your concern about my well-being. My headache is mild, but it’s getting worse.”

“You don’t need to talk back to me like that, Alice.” He frowns. “Of course I’m concerned about your well-being. That’s why I’ll be taking you to and from therapy twice a week.”

“Right. Sorry.” I take a deep breath and massage my forehead. That fake headache is quickly becoming real.

We have a long, tense ride home. Brayden doesn’t ask if I want to stop at the store for clothes.